


Blood of The Covenant

by FourAlignments



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: 60s Issues Weaved Into Modern Day Issues, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Baby! Wanda Maximoff, Creepy En Sabah Nur, Domestic Fluff, Erik Actually Being Happy For Once, Erik Lehnsherr Actually Being Jewish, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Lawrence of Arabia References, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Erik Lehnsherr, Period Typical Bigotry, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Prometheus (Alien) References, Protective Erik Lehnsherr, Science Fiction, Thriller (Genre), What Do You Mean It's Not Political?, baby! Pietro Maximoff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:20:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29936778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourAlignments/pseuds/FourAlignments
Summary: Erik Lehnsherr, Leader of The Brotherhood of Mutants, after his fight with Charles on the Cuban beach requires funds and supplies for his war against Mankind and man's institutions of oppression. Thus, he goes to Seth First-Light, a mysterious and affluent mutant to back his operations. The two gentlemen mutants cut a deal with one another or as First-Light puts it: A Covenant.However, Erik doesn't realize what the covenant will truly cost him....
Relationships: Azazel/Raven | Mystique (X-Men), Erik Lehnsherr & En Sabah Nur, Erik Lehnsherr & Pietro Maximoff, Erik Lehnsherr & Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Erik Lehnsherr/Magda (X-Men), Pietro Maximoff & En Sabah Nur, Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	Blood of The Covenant

**Author's Note:**

> I felt a great Disturbance in fandom as if thousands cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced after the Wandavision. What Disney did was wrong, terrible even and so its up to fandom to do what a megacorporation cannot give because of their greed and blatant disrespect to a trilogy that in someways was better than them. Personally, I think on a character, storyline, and film language the X-Men Trilogy had Marvel beat  
> Except for Marvel movies like Black Panther, Antman and Wasp, and Guardians of Galaxy Vol. 2 (those are the exceptions, not the RULE). But, I do still consider them better because in the case of First Class and DOFP they juggled multiple storylines and gave great storyarcs to all their characters. 
> 
> This is a long way coming. I spent 1.5+ years on research and getting all my ducks in a row. 
> 
> General Housekeeping: 
> 
> The God and The Thief,  
> I wasn't expecting people to really jump on board and want this story to be a mutli-chapter. Like 16 people subscribed to it. Like I can throw a party with 16 people. I know what I am doing, but its heard juggling two massive projects on top one another. But, I generally know what I am doing. There will be much Peter and Sabah Nur bonding over food all things (I guess the best way to get Peter to trust you is through his stomach). I want four chapters of that, before Erik and Charles are even physically introduced. Erik really screwed the pooch in this one. But, it would be nice if I had someone to bounce ideas off. If you hadn't notice my style takes a really long time to write, so please be patient. 
> 
> Now, when it comes to En Sabah Nur writing wise comparing this one to The God and The Thief. I had two very different governing philosophies when writing this character. In God in the Thief, Sabah Nur just woke up and the dude just discovered sugar, other fruits, inventions, spices etc. So, that why he speaks so weirdly and he's not used to the modern lingo and slag. I'm going to admit, I'm very proud of my dialogue. I think its some of the best I have written. 
> 
> However in Blood, He never went dormant and spent the last several thousand years observing humanity and picking and choosing aspects of cultures that he likes. I'm going to be author's commentary or post about it on my blog to go into further detail. 
> 
> Umm.. other things! 
> 
> Do heed the tags and 'Choose Not To Achieve Warning'  
> There be Dragons! I do not want to spoil.  
> The Rating may change in the future. 
> 
> On Apocalypses Alias Seth First-Light. En Sabah Nur is a name you run away, screaming from and I doubt Erik would make deal with that dude. 
> 
> Until further ado, Apocalypses will be in Oscar Isaacs form until specified otherwise. 
> 
> Warning!: References to sex in this chapter (Author is Aro-Ace and went into this blindfolded and didn't know what she was doing. Do Take mercy) Its only three paragraphs and is somewhat is implied. You Know it when you see it. You can skip over it.

Blood of The Covenant

Chapter 1: The Covenant

Erik locked his sea glass eyes in battle against Seth First-Light’s deep rosewood ones. The metalbender couldn’t place it, there something…something not entirely human. No vulnerability in this man’s gaze; the inability to relate. Seth couldn’t be much older than him. But he had old wisdom, beyond his years in his rich sepia eyes.

The sunlight from the morning sun streamed in, showering the study in blinding radiance and hallow light. Forcing Erik to look away, before rapidly blinking to get the spots floating in his eyes. Before taking a seat at his imperial throne as resplendence of ivory and gold settled behind the trees giving grace and reprieve to the metalbender, who had entered. Thence, where the elder mutant readily dispenses his mandates to parts of his upmost dominions supplied in with comfortable warmth of his protection to may trumpets blast his return against assaults of bold incursions of his enemies. Here now, he safely resides within, invulnerable. 

As the sun rose from the East, coronating himself with a crown of light, a sun disc. Salting the ends of curled hair, light diffracts off the strains. The sun itself bowed in respect and resentment at the mutant. Splendor of his court, treasures, and antiquities of ages past framed on his shelves: The Old Kingdom, Mesopotamia, Sasanian Empire and Nubia. Others that he couldn’t quite place the period of. Scoured all around were bookshelves lining either side of the walls filled with leather bound books and journals.

The odd two pieces out were a low-set slant, minimalist, and chic teal sofa; to the earth tones in the room, the sofa looked positively neon in comparison; and a Michell Gammon turntable vinyl record player, forward-looking and iconoclasts all in a geometric glass case. Despised by their owner. The sofa looked rather out a showroom, than it was ever sat upon, not a stain was on it, nor the cushions meshed back; it was barely used. It was simply there to be fashionable for the time, nothing more, nothing less; no matter how fleeting it was.

A yearning to go back to a time that never was and shall be again. Back where the world hadn’t lost its way. A golden age laden with glided gold of the first mutant age. Mutants were living, breathing Gods upon the Earth, and worshipped as such. Destined to rule the known world with their unimagined power. Hierarchal. Cruel. Truth and fiction intervened into the abyss of non-thinking: a manufactured ignorance. Erasing histories of repression, exploitation, and revolt. At the heart of that society was violence. Kept in order by fear and absolute power. 

Under a map of the world sticked with pins scattered all over it and names of dig sites tagged with torn strips of yellow sticky notes, the outer lip curling up. On the walnut fireplace, hard and unforgiving, was a mantle holding up a sword on display: The Khopesh. Not a speck of blue-green tarnish was on the bronze sickle blade. It could have come out of the battle of Kadesh, held by Pharaoh Ramesses II against the Hittites by just how well polished and preserved it was. An alternating pattern of polished leather dark and light with intricate detail work on the handle sheathed with indigo Florentine linen. Antediluvian Khopesh rumbled like a drumbeat of battle cries and roared out and boil like the sea to Erik, who never thought a sword could be this opinionated for want of bloodlust.

Dallah coffee pot sat at his desk steaming, with its hornbill beak spout and bulbous body with fine detail work of hand engraved in the elaborate gurayshia style. Underneath disagreeable bitterness of the coffee were hints of cardamom, cloves, and cinnamon. Steaming out of the spout. Alongside a small porcelain bowl filled with pitted sweet diamonds dates, crinkly skin shimmers from natural sugar crystals with a sticky flesh of rich caramel. All resting on serving tray geomatic five- and ten-pointed star patterns lining the center.

Silence is the quietest thing that most people break.

“So—you’re the mutant who lifted a submarine in Cuba?” The elder mutant asked, not evening brothering to look Erik in the eye. Before opening a drawer filled yellow lined note pads, pens, and old business cards, and picking up pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes and brushed sliver zippo lighter with rounded corners. Erik held his tongue, while the other mutant tapped out a single cigarette and embering the end of the bud, before adding, “The mutants, I’ve seen throughout my lifetime could with a single fist to the earth make whole fields take seed and pop and grow the very next day. Or grow so tall that they could make Talos quiver in fear at their approach. Making the currents of water flow, volcano, the very earth itself bend into submission to their wishes, whole island crashed into the sea. All mighty mutants—some mortals even considered them to be divine.”

“A mutant’s strength or abilities is not what makes a mutant. But how humans view and treat us. That’s why I’m here to discuss with you—” Erik was cut off by Seth sharply.

Counter punching Erik’s assertion, “And without their abilities they wouldn’t be considered mutant, wouldn’t they?” Seth’s jaw clinched with tension and accessing his next move. “Erik Lehnsherr, I make it a habit to get to know, who I do business with.” Letting a barrel of smoke out and diffuse into walls and ceiling of his office, leaving a haze. The smell of tobacco wrinkled Erik’s nose forcing a cough out of him. It reminded him too much of Shaw, when it wasn’t cigars, it was cigarettes that he smoked in his congratulatory statement of finding new scientific discovery or use of his body and powers, “J. Edgar Hoover could be wiring tapping your phones and you wouldn’t even know it. Or one of your members of ‘The Brotherhood’ turned informant to save their own hid. And turn us all in for subversion.”

“I know my people.” Erik said resolute and determined. He wouldn’t have come here otherwise if he hadn’t thought he could get an offer. The Brotherhood of Mutants needed this. To survive. There were no alternatives.

Seth slinked over to the other side of his desk, came where the turntable sat adjacent to the teal sofa against the wall. For the briefest of moments, Seth grew physically taller. His eyes must be deceiving him. Erik hadn’t notice it before, as he twisted his body in the chair to follow his host; but Seth’s steel wool colored suit was from a decade prior with its double-breasted coat with long lapels and three buttons, that he hasn’t seen in a while if at all as of late, looser trouser billowing effect tapering at the ankles with a higher waist made of finer and more durable material, before the advent of mass industrialization, made to stand a lifetime or close to it. He really couldn’t say that about clothes that he bought now…after a year or two the material stretched, whorled or torn had to be taken to the tailor. Seth pulled out a thick vinyl album over filled with multiple records labeled: _Der Ring des Nibelungen_ by Richard Wagner.

A sharp crackle mumbled as the needle made contact the grooves on the outer most edge of the vinyl. Arose it grew sound as the other mutant made his way back to his desk.

“I want to know of your opinion.” Seth’s eyes darting back to the spinning vinyl, behind Erik’s chair. Eight horns announce, coming in, one by one, barely audible. Cool and overlapping in sonic currents, distant. Rumbling like the mirky depths of the Rhine River, ambient, yet barely unassuming brook in the great Alpines of Graubünden with its water crystalline from his glaciatic source. It was primal in its awaking. Violins and the strings quivering and rising and falling like waves; one joining after the other, always starting at a higher point in each wave.

“What does this have to do with—” Seth was a mutant, who had little patience for fools. He could comply old soldiers into battle for little more than personal glory. 

Giving a breath, Seth took back his seat. “It has everything to do with this.” Erik captured by his words, charmed like a Cobra in a basket. Pouring himself some coffee and take a sip, “Sometimes, Erik. The cultural questions are just as important as the political and economic questions.” Placing his coffee cup down, in addition scooping up a date into his mouth and the crystalized sweetness contrasting the aftermath of bitterness from the coffee. “It’s about cycles, really…” Tapering off, and yet Erik found himself leaning closer; utterly intrigued; he wanted to hear what this mutant had to say. “I’ve seen it over and over again. When they are young, and the sun is rising with them. Full of ambition to bend the world to their desire—to shape the world in their selfish image. They expand their boundaries. They fight endlessly for land, water, treasure, or political slights, no matter how small. At the height of their power, they rest on their conquered treasure and wealth, and arouse how wise they are. Near the end, they are fat, and past their prime, decant in their corruption and unwholly unfit for greatness. But by the end. They wish for death as they rot alive or taken down by a new contender, who will experience the exact same fate as their precursors. It’s pathetic.” Seth gave a sigh, “Rather by be called a hegemon, world power, or empire. It doesn’t matter.” Resting his voice for a tad, he took another drink of his coffee and raised his hand to signal wanting his opinion on the matter.

Erik spoke, while Seth was nursing his coffee and his cigarette left burning on an ash tray beside him, “It doesn’t matter if it is the Soviets or the Americans, they don’t tell a difference when threatened. To secure their own power they’ll overthrow whole governments and exploit nations and their people suffer. They’re no better than bullies at the international level. And mutants are just another resource to exploit in their Great Game. However, this time, if they go to war with one another. The whole world dies because of their arrogance and own fear of one another.”

“Why Erik, do you think… so small?” Seth shifted back into his chair.

“Big things have small beginnings.”

“Creation and destruction are not separate entities. They are one and the same. One cannot live without the other.” Seth’s eyes were hooded, his expression unreadable as he looked down at the adolescent mutant, supreme in his confidence, “I have judged humanity…and found them wanting—something more—something… better. In its place. It’s quite trying after a while” Lamenting past sorrows and destruction of many young mutants, their lives cut short by humanity, out of fear, anger, and mistrust. Many of them, he took under his wing and taught to fight and resist humanity expansion across the continents. “For too long my children have wandered aimlessly; scattered in the wind. Without a culture or language, or shared solidarity. Not knowing their own history, having to rely on humans for their source of identity.” A dream dying over and over through tens of thousands of young mutants.

Taken aback by this; Erik hadn’t really heard any mutant call his or her fellow mutants: ‘children.’ It was usually ‘brother’ or ‘sister’ in solidarity for one another. It signaled that they were equal, no matter their ability. Seth was the first mutant that Erik met, who did this. It was a common courtesy within the mutant liberation movement. It didn’t matter in the end; they were fighting this one-sided war against humanity together for recognition of what mutantkind was.

“Trapped in a sandstorm, not knowing how blind they are as they wander in exile. Condemned to invisibility and the lesser other.” A sad distance sorrow filled the elder mutant eyes. A deep mourning of things taken away and things shattered. Erik knew this feeling that threatened to devour him.

Before, Seth stated with pride, resolute and determined to set things right after the world had gone astray without his guidance, “I am protector of all Mutantkind.” Before adding, “For the first time, in my lifetime, mutantkind has the ability to truly connect with one another through mass communication. We can finally be united in one voice. It can unite us in this great moment of triumph.” Erik was gripped on every word, Seth spoke like every word would be his last, “Once together we have _Asabiyyah_. It is the very foundation of mutant society, a shared purpose in loyalty and willingness to fight for the community. To have a society that shares its wealth and prosperity and in times of hardship come together. We can avoid catastrophe and the many mistakes humanity have made over the millennia. Mutants can break away from this vicious cycle.”

“Every Mutant is equal to one another. Mutants are better. We’re _Remtu_. Humans will do anything not to lose their power to us. We have to force their hand, or we’ll never get what we want. Systems of the weak. Systems that keep us enslaved to them or fighting one another. All the while they stay in power and take our strength for their useless endeavors. Humanity has strength only through their weapons.” The elder mutant rolled his eyes as if he was listening to annoying child. “Stone, swords, arrows, and now…this. Always the same. But, never can they strike at true power...” 

Erik couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had finally met someone, who shared his convictions and goals for mutantkind. A mutant, who knew that force was necessary to yield humanity’s hand. As much as he respected Charles as a person, they diverged in ideology. Charles would have mutantkind bow down to their oppressors, limit mutants’ potential, just to keep humanity’s fear at bay. Unequal partnership. Never truly free. An ideology that came from wealth and privilege. He did hope someday that Charles would forgive him for what he did on the beach of Cuba. He still carried the bullet that left his friend paralysis as a reminder of just how much he failed his friend. 

“Humanity will always seek to destroy what it doesn’t understand or what they cannot control. We can never show our true potential. We can never achieve true equality if humans are allowed to oppress us with their intuitions that do not care about our people.” Before adding, resolute in his determination of a utopian dream. “We can create a better society for all.”

Yes, mutants the next step in human evolution and mutants had more understanding and empathy of what it truly meant to be human. Mutants would show their precursors to a better way of life. Humanity would evolve…into them, someday. It was up to him to lead the way, to be the better man. 

Charles was wrong. Killing Shaw gave him peace and the chance to move on with his life to do grander things for mutantkind. It was freeing finally ending Shaw’s life.

The constant threat of Shaw ruining his life; to take his children away. His happiness. On guard and alert. It was no way to live. He could have a normal life. He could have peace: a true unwavering peace. Peace from fear. Peace from terror. Peace from experimentation. Peace from hunger. Peace from ghettos and forced poverty. Peace from cold and darkness; without electricity and water. All he wanted was peace.

Experiences that his children would never know under his guard: it was his moral duty, a scared duty as the Talmud instructed.

Never again would men like Shaw hurt and tear apart his family.

Erik didn’t trust humanity. They would always fear what they didn’t understand. He’d seen in the camps, Shaw, on the beach of Cuba. They feared the unknown and that they could not control. Those men could never see reason and to comprise with them; was a comprise to murder and one’s very morality. He never comprise with his oppressors, who wanted him and his people dead. Who didn’t even see his humanity.

A great burden he had been holding on to for all the injustice he suffered from that man. The death of his father Jakob, uncle Erich, sister Ruth…his mother taken by Shaw’s bullet all because he couldn’t move a coin. Even his first-born daughter lost in the flames of human prejudice, Anya, named after Magda’s mother, lost to them at Auschwitz.

To bring justice to a man, who escape the Nuremberg Trials with his connections to the Soviets and the American governments and blood money.

He did….

At the cost of his friendship with Charles.

It was worth it to be free, liberated.

It filled his entire being.

This what Moses felt like leading his people out of Egypt in Exodus. 

Time itself made anew.

Liberation expanded his abilities to tap into the Earth’s magnetic field. Levitation…flight, a new dawn was on the horizon. Levitating on that memory, that feeling of liberation that he hadn’t felt he escaped from the camps with Magda. A liberation he wanted all mutantkind to feel. To be untethered and know the full extent of his powers and not stop by humanity’s fear of the unknown. Who enslaved them to systems meant to oppress them.

Charles for all his idealism, naïveté; despite his mutant abilities could never be in his shoes, he could never truly know him. To know what it feels like to be him. Charles could never see into his soul. That was between him and God.

The time was now to act on Mutant Liberation. Erik felt in the air it was like electricity caught by his hand. There could be no better time. It could be done. It was a time of societal change from the ground up. The oppressed had it and the social order that had came before it was unraveling. It was a time of revolutionary change. Conformity of the 50s chain broke into pieces. In it’s a place a boundless reformation.

Anything was possible. The whole of society could bend and change if they willed it to happen. Those who stood in there way, were on the wrong side of history and would be judged by future generations for their moral failing and be bygones of another age. It was the beginning of the end for absolutism of imperialism, colonialism, caste systems put in place by powerful, wealthy untouchable men, long since dead and could no longer be held accountable. Kept invisible to create and maintain unjust hierarchy and inequality; seeking to sustain itself at all cost. A thirst for change gripped them. The whole mutant political consciousness rose as they all soon realized that there were alternatives to just blind obedience and hopelessness. It was ushering in a new age. No longer would mutants remain passive as humanity oppressed them and cast them into the shadows. Though to his fellow mutants, who thought the status quo would remain there permit and unchangeable; until it is done, is always seemed impossible.

He would lead mutantkind into a new age of true equality and freedom. Mutantkind could seize this moment and breakaway from the margins of society, where humanity kept them. Away from grasping the levers of power, but they themselves had power in their abilities that no gun, no nuclear arsenal couldn’t hope could compete with. The potential of mutantkind was limitless. No more would mutantkind hide their powers in fear of experimentation and disposability of their bodies for conquest and petty imperial folly. No more pretending to be human for humanity’s comfort. No more fear, no more self-hatred for not fitting into the narrow margins of what beauty should be or how one should dress. Liberation for all. 

It was almost in within his grasp. 

“Are you a penitent man, Mr. Lehnsherr?” The question shaking Erik out of his thoughts. It was the type of question, that he hadn’t heard asked of him so often or never asked at all. His host gave him no reprieve as he had this gaze that could pierce through solid lead. Just waiting on the juvenile mutant to answer him. Erik caught glimpses of Seth glancing down at his watch.

Younger mutant gave a breath as he shifted in his chair, “My relationship with God is…strained.” Trying to keep his words following as smooth as possible, not wanting to give away his hand. Outside of Magda, he didn’t even want to talk about this topic. “All I heard was silence from him in the camps. I kept asking myself, how could God allow this happen?” A slow dead air filled the room, “I learned that unspeakable evil doesn’t from monsters…Monsters don’t exist. These men are human beings, as were all mass killers throughout history. Ordinary human beings.” Erik clinched his back molars in his jaw “I’m still mad at God.” The metalbender admitted. Erik gave a sigh, “I just hope, I can help my children in their own journeys…. Perhaps I could find God again through them.”

As smooth as honey and just as sweet, yet the softest quiet despondent pain rang through his voice; ending on a curious note, “You have children?” This peaked Seth’s interest, leaning in slightly.

“Yes, two. Twins. A girl and boy.” Seth glanced up, wanting him to continue. “Wanda and Pietro.” After Cuba, his life had been eventful to say the least with his reunion with Magda, the women who saved him in the camps. Hope. She gave him hope. A flickering candle in a sea of darkness and despair. With her high-handed demeanor and the deviance in her eyes, how she refused to respect those who denied her and her people very humanity. Yet in the camps, she refused to yield to the utter despair and apathy, where self-preservation was the highest virtue, turning them against one another just like the beach in Cuba. That hope that spark of light didn’t come from privilege, nor of wealth or naïveté; that upon staring into the abyss, true evil and the worst humanity could be, and not seeing the world as it was, but as the world as it could be — but is not yet.

A small part of him refused to give himself over to the inherit nature of humanity was cruelty, selfishness, and apathy.

Magda was there waiting for him on the Romani side of the camp behind the barbed wire separating them. Waiting how many hours and days that Schmidt experimented on him. Time had no meaning, nor the night had no end. But she was always there, waiting. Greeting him with the understanding eyes and compassionate smile that for the briefest of moment transported him back to the cobble streets of Düsseldorf and how in the awkwardness of teenage first love in his attempts to flirt with her and impress her with her boyish charm. Before the chilled air passed through his thinning body reminding him, where he was. Magda gave him respect, love, and empathy, and forgiveness that he didn’t thought he’d deserved after his failure to move a simple coin, who cried for him for he had no more tears to shed.

She was the best that humanity had to offer.

It was at that moment he knew he had to marry her.

So, he did. With only four guys and four sticks, that they held up for chuppah.

No rings. No marriage certificate. They had each other, that’s all he needed.

After the death of Anya, Magda came back, after seeing Shaw walking the streets without a care in the world and the world not noticing a war criminal nor seeking justice for the wrongs that he had committed. The men, who thought it right to kill a child innocent to the world for fear of their father, unlike them and othered, were the monsters. He promised her that night, after he killed Shaw. They could have a normal life together and raise and family. A promise that he attended to keep. But he didn’t want to risk Magda getting killed. Shaw was too power, too uncaring, if it meant bringing pain to him, he would do it in a heartbeat.

For nearly two decades, they spent apart from one another, only sending correspondence on occasion. It took one letter falling in Shaw’s network…the last light of his life would be gone.

A vast empty cavern opened in his heart slowly filled with the blood of countless men, who followed orders without question, the war profiters, corrupt officials, sympathizers, and reactionaries loyal to the old regime, smugglers, the ex-Nazis hiding and trying to forget their past crimes, but bubbling underneath was the utter devotion to ‘blood and honor.’

Until…a light knock on his hotel door in Geneva, the night before his appointment with the bank. Shaw was almost his gasp. Expecting the worse upon opening that door.

Never realizing how much he hungered for mouth, her voice, her skin. It was wandering in the desert without bread to sustain him, while dawn distressed him. Searching for someone he hadn’t thought lost. A fairer world encompassing her embrace. She only caressed his jaw hardened by death and unforgiveness against the monsters, who had hurt his and her people. Complimenting simply, admitting: ‘how handsome, he’d become.’

To taste whole unfettered joy. A nod of a deeper understanding pass through each other of unnerving quality unbeknownst they had. Unlaced and unfettered of articles their beauteous state reveals, safely trending, and basking in each other’s glory.

As souls unbodied, dancing intertwined, the world became still, and time unchecked as Helios and moon eclipsed each other crowing each other in golden radiance. In love hollowed temple; the soft bed from firm as glacier to downy, feather soft. All powers, he’d thought he knew he had defied him and was for not. For the very power she had over him that only grace could dignify, the imperfect self. Their eyes watching God.

The next day…he thought nothing of it.

He hadn’t reflected on the consequences, all his thoughts pointed toward Shaw.

Until meeting her again at the gate at New York International Airport, bustling with visitors, tourist, businessmen, pilots going over their pre-flight checks list and Pan Am flight attendants getting gawked and catcalled by executives and Mad Men through the gates of the skies, at the height of the jet age. Cavernous arched high ceilings imitating that of a bird in flight with flipping of delays and cities whirring into somewhere else, Paris to Istanbul, Rio de Janeiro to Beirut; Rome to Johannesburg on the departure board on the round almost alien-like standing platform it was something straight of The Jetsons. Standing there waiting for him heavily pregnant.

“Are they gifted?” The question snapped Erik out of the past. Seth pouring himself another cup of coffee and bringing it up to his lips, blowing on it.

He couldn’t find an apartment that would take them. Sure, he could get his foot in the door, however when the landlords requested an interview with them. The landlords outright refused to rent to them upon seeing Magda walk through the office door. It reminded him too much of living under the Nazi regime in Düsseldorf; for Americans own sense of bravado and talk about how much ‘freedom’ they had compared to the Soviet Union…well, he really wasn’t seeing it. Oh, there were so many times he wanted to use his powers to shove a stapler down their throats.

Magda requested of him for their children not to be born in the hospital and find to _Hebammen,_ midwives. Bova Ayrshire, the more senior of the two practicing midwives, who came to them in their hour of need.

They found refuge in a boarding house.

Waiting outside in that hallway in a kitchen chair, his foot tapping impatiently against the hard wood floor. The Bova forbidden him to set foot in their bedroom until after the birth and, only came out to command him to boil water. A fellow lodger brought him a glass of water and a sleeve of digestive biscuits. His stomach full of acid.

When he heard…no cries of his first born.

Not another one…. not like Anya. He couldn’t lose another child. Not like this…

Pietro decided to come feet first into the world, the boy was going to be a runner. His cries quick, but belated.

And not twelve minutes later, his daughter was born, her cries a bitch higher than her older brother’s. Invited in to sit by his wife, a stool waiting beside the bed for him.

Two beautiful red headed children. New to the world.

Out of blue and pink blankets only had scarlet and sliver charcoal left. Wanda swaddled in a deep mystical scarlet red and given to her mother to hold. While, Pietro was examined more thoroughly by Bova checking his vitals, his pulse too quick even for a newborn. Before, wrapping Pietro in a soft charcoal blanket and let a father bond with his son.

He cried tears. Not tears of pain, misery, nor of rage and anger. But tears of joy. Unbridled joy.

Never, Erik thought he could be this happy. After years of repressing any semblance of happiness that he felt during his childhood and memories with his family memories were tainted and expunged of their joy when Shaw shot his mother. Burying deep within, convincing himself that he had none left, except pain and anger. 

Perhaps sensing his father’s distress, Pietro with his squeegee lumpy arms squeeze his chest in the biggest hug he could.

Wanda cried out for her brother her tiny fist failing in the air in an uncoordinated mess. Sensing that he wasn’t near her older brother for the first time. Bright red crackling fireworks graced her fingertips like Chrysanthemum opening to the sun. 

“Yes.” Erik answered.

Now, he could move on and form happier memories and move on from the pain and sorrow of the past. He could let go, but never forgetting. Teaching his children songs of their peoples passed down to them in a never ending chain. Kneading, the sticky warm yeasted Challah and showing them how to bread their traditional bread for Shabbat just like his mother had showed him. For special occasions, babka, rich and sweet, and drenched in sweet sugary syrup, treacly to the touch, swirled with cinnamon and twisted in a loaf pan.

Lighting the Manoah during Hanukkah and passing the down the story of rebellion against oppression of King Antiochus IV Epiphanes of Seleucid Empire founded after the division of Macedonia Empire established by Alexander “The Great”, taking back the Temple in Jerusalem and the miracle of how a small amount oil burned for eight days.

Pan frying pillowy Sufganiyot crackling in deep fry oil turning golden brown, but not over fried that left the dough oily, but left a ring of white around the doughnut. Filled with strawberry jam his mother made from the strawberries that he picked that spring.

Celebrating Passover, which was coming up…. his first Passover with Pietro, Wanda, and Magda. He wouldn’t be alone. Deliverance from slavery in Egypt. Reading the Haggadah to them. Hearing his children ask the four questions. It saddened Erik’s heart that the seder dishes used during his childhood _Pesach_ celebrations were smashed.

Mutantkind struggles would have a seder plate of their own facing oppression today. He would liberate them.

Watching Pietro and Wanda become full members and taking responsibility for knowing Halakha during their Bar Mitzvah and Bat Mitzvah. Walking his daughter down the aisle for her wedding, hearing the glass break under foot and gifting tallit, to her.

Taking solace with them during Yom Kipper and repentance for his past actions. For some actions he wouldn’t repent for. Cuba. Charles. The bullet. It was so unlike him. At last, he thought he had complete control over his powers in his moment of triumph over Shaw. Just so careless of him. It was just like being a child again unable to move that coin.

He just hoped…Charles’s injuries weren’t as severe as he thought. He deflected a bullet into his spine. Of course, it was bad!

‘You took away his ability to walk’ Erik criticized to himself. Charles is not going to forgive you nor about taking Raven with you. Despite his overprotectiveness of her, some of it justified, while unknowingly being controlling about her life choices.

Heavy in jacket pocket like the core of neutron star; the metal wailing he could hear Charles’s scream over and over.

Upon reflection, it hadn’t occurred to Erik that in his quest for Shaw. He neglected that divine spark within him. That link to God. He hadn’t had time to go to synagogue and pray. Nor study the holy books.

Observing Sabbath was the only connection to his mother and family.

Historical memory, not only of his people, but of Magda’s people, the Romani, flowed through his children’s veins; it was the Shoah and Samudaripen, Exodus and Slavery, Exile and Ujmagyar, blood libel and Egyptians Act; the persecutions, the massacres, the expulsions all too numerous to count. Now collective trauma that his children had to deal with, but not alone, never alone, and the institutions never fully eliminated after the war; the hate was still there, but it was more subtle, a nicer form of it, not being obvious and found better ways of rationalizing that hate to individualize the problem away. He would protect his children.

The very act of honoring sabbath and to keep it holy, was an act of deviance against those who wanted to erase them. He would protect his children. To forget, was tyrants and oppressors into their home and rule over them. To forgot was to dishonor those who died and disrespect their memory. For remembering what should never be forgotten.

It was a question of history. Historical revision and eraser were the enemies of memory. They sought to map over and make it go away, but never actually learn from it. Only trying to bury it. But, only to come back again and again. Engaging in a collective amnesia. To cloud, to fog in matrimony of ignorant violence. A refusal of reckoning of the horrors and pains. Revision was to mythologize to the past and make it squeaky clean as a politician’s fake smile to take away the ugly and focus on the wonderful. Insidious in its own way to think the past was without fault, to hide imperial justifications in forms of self-flattery; to speak against was unpatriotic and an enemy of the homeland for questioning the national mythology.

With no past history any lie could be fact, and none in the present would be the wiser.

With that memory and history, those who remembered the abuses of power, corruption, and tyrants, who cared not for dignity of people of days future pasted.

Seth’s cup clattered and clanged onto metal serving tray as it dropped from his hand, semi-circling before stilling. The brown liquid spreading over the fine cervices of the intricate artwork. A few fingers twitching. His eyes growing wide, before blinking in rapid succession. “Extraordinary.”

“Why—Thank you!” Rubbing his neck, hopefully now they could get down to business. Erik admitting to himself, not really talking to Seth. “Sometimes…I wish that I was normal.”

A dark ambience overtook Seth’s sepia eyes.

“Would it be rude of me to ask, where do you live, exactly?” Curling his fingers his temple in an inquisitive, shifting his weight onto his elbow resting on the armchair.

“I owe overdue rent to a boarding house. It’s one bedroom…” 

Cutting Erik off in midsentence, “Unacceptable.” Slamming his fist down hard on the table. Giving Erik a quick jolt in his chair, “I’m getting you a house.” Before adding, “Paid in full. And I’ll take care of the mortgage for as long as you live.” Licking the inner lining of his bottom lip, “I’ll payback your landlord three times over your original deal for your overdue rent payments.”

Erik let out a hesitant short breathy laugh. Seth couldn’t serious…

“Consider it part my offer.”

“Th—this isn’t really necessary.” Erik’s voice wavering, “This isn’t what I needed or came in for.”

“I consider it social welfare for my fellow mutants.” Shrugging his shoulders, “We must look out for each other because the government and the humans surely won’t. You must have been seeing it, the want, the need of things for identity and a poor substitute for community and culture. The pure spectacle and emptiness of it all. So, we must make a community of our own and build each other up.” Mimicking Erik’s energy and facial expressions in a dark mirror of himself. Giving Erik sweet smile, showing off his teeth, white as moonstones. Erik’s brows furrowed. Speckles of dried liquid smelling of tobacco and molasses stained on the carpet scattered throughout the office. Yet, this man had no tobacco buildup on the inner cavities of his teeth.

Their agreement with their landlord that he couldn’t pay upfront, and he pleaded with him to pay it back later, was coming due. Why he didn’t just evict them, he didn’t know…but kicking out a young couple with two newborns onto the streets in the middle of winter. He didn’t have the money. He had no idea where his new revenue source would come from. He heard stories of landlords kicking out tenants for less than a “nuisance citation”; which meant anything from kids being too loud to flushing toys down the toilet and clogging up the pipes or an asthma attack.

The filth of floors that would turn white socks black and gray. The walls barely insulated frigid cold air swept right through them. No matter how much he tided and cleaned it to the point of being a borderline obsession he could still caught glimpses maggots crawling in and out and weaving between yellowing wallpaper peeling off the walls.

“Alright,” Slapping his hands together, holding Erik’s attention “In addition, I’ll give your men a salary of umm…” Shooting a number across his head, “80K each.” With absolute certainty in his words, his words were truth and law. “For you, I’ll start your salary at 200K. And any or all my supplies, weapons, intel, training, transportation needed for your missions shall be yours and at your disposal.” Coming in rapid succession as Seth laid down his offer: “Paid sick leave,” “Thirty-six days of paid vacation,” “Healthcare including dental and vision,” “Holidays off,” “A sizable pension,” “Jubilee all your debt,” “Setting your own schedule,” Promises made and promised kept that would not break under any circumstances. As he willed it into being. If Erik simply trusted him, threads of uncertainty and doubt fell away like the walls at Jericho come tumbling down.

As the list grew longer and longer, the metalbender’s mouth grew dry and wider threating to drop to the floor. He covered his mouth in someway as to give away his tell.

This was more than he could even dream of.

The indignity of it all. Barely scrapping by…he and Magda didn’t have enough food between them, now with newborns…things were dire. Newborns, they need warmth and a roof over their heads. He didn’t want Pietro and Wanda having the same exact life he had, he wanted something better for them. To be proud of who and what they were. Roma. Jew. And Mutant.

“All I want from you and what I want in return is when I ask for your help for my missions—operations—if you will. You do so…no questioned asked.” Before adding, “And blood tribute.” Slapping onto it, “I’ll pay you an additional bonus for every missions of mine that you do.”

Erik felt a cold tendril of something curl in his stomach, like dread or apprehension but subtler and more worrisome. Erik didn’t want to ask what Seth meant.

Drumming his fingers on his desk, “If I’m being honest—No other financial backer…for our type of business is going to make you this kind of offer. I’m the only one who can help you, my son.” The elder mutant’s soft and understand, lulling Erik in, “We can build a better world, together for our children. Don’t you want that Erik Lehnsherr?” Erik mouthed ‘yes.’ “For too long we have suffered under human systems their laws, weapons, to help turn and divide us and keep us distracted from those who undeserving and abusing their power.” Giving a pause, “But, if you decide to leave,” Glancing at the door, “Than, the offer is off the table.” Adding, “I’m not going to offer this arrangement again.”

All that stood in his way for mutant liberation and life he’d never thought he could have and a better life for his children, his dream was a nagging feeling, an instinctual protection over his young.

The Id didn’t know what was best for it, this was an excellent deal. A dream that filled his entire being of freedom that he wanted other mutants to feel.

Erik buried it.

“I’ll take your offer.” Offering his hand in solidarity as stood up from his chair as Seth mirrored him. Standing a few inches taller than him. The sun now high enough in the sky broke between the branches of the trees and filtering in. Hitting Erik’s face again and brightening the room in and out again. The elder mutant grabbed instead not his hand, but his forearm. Gripped so tight that Erik heard a sickening _pop!_ As the two gentlemen shook their each other hands. Erik visible wincing, biting back his cries

“This isn’t just an agreement. It’s a covenant.” A threat behind his cheery demeanor. Letting go of the younger mutant’s arm and turned his attention to the weather outside his window. His back now facing Erik. Not even wanting Erik’s opinion on the matter stated: “I want you to meet some of my associates of mine….do you want to go to a wake?”

**Author's Note:**

> Give Kudos, subscribe, bookmark, and comment. 
> 
> I do enjoy longer comments, pleases me greatly and it makes my day a little more brighter 
> 
> It would be great in all to have ideas for baby! Wanda things to do because I'm coming up with blanks, so please leave suggestions down below. Because I got Pietro all figure out. I just really haven't written for Wanda.
> 
> Also: Please do nudge me as to wondering why it is taking so long for me post another chapter. Like ask a question, do it nicely. That really helps me get motivation and it kicks me in the pants.


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